Page 12 of Praised By the Cornerback

“Yeah.” He leans forward, and I catch the faint smell of wine on his breath. “You never say what you’re thinking. You just watch people with those eyes, and it’s like you’re taking notes or something. It freaks me out.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing and look at him.

“See?” He points at me. “You’re doing it right now.”

“Knox,” I say. “You should go to your room and get some sleep, or you won’t be able to practice tomorrow.”

He snort-laughs. “Isn’t it funny, coming from you?”

“And why is that funny?”

“‘Cause it’s your fault!”

I stare at him. “My fault?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t elaborate, only studies his reflection in the bar mirror, and I don’t ask. Because whatever he’s thinking, I don’t need to hear it. Not here and not now, because people are watching.

I feel the shift in attention around us. Conversations have gone quieter, and there’s a woman two seats down who keeps glancing over, her phone in her hand. A couple near the entrance to the restaurant is pretending not to stare, but their eyes keep drifting back.

They know who we are. The Knights’ second wide receiver and the Vipers’ cornerback, sitting at a hotel bar together, voices raised, one of them swaying on his stool. It’s a headline waiting to happen. Someone’s going to pull out their phone, start filming, and by tomorrow morning it’ll be all over social media.

I need to get him out of here.

“Alright,” I say, standing. “Let’s get you to your room.”

“What? No,” Knox waves me off. “It’s still early. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I am.”

“Knox.” I step closer, lower my voice. “People are watching.”

That gets through. He glances around, noticing for the first time how the room has turned toward us. His jaw tightens, and for a second I think he’s going to argue. But then he deflates and nods.

“Okay. Fine.”

I reach out, gently take him by the elbow. He lets me guide him toward the exit without pulling away. He leans into me, and I adjust, keeping him steady as we move through the lobby.

The elevator is empty when we step inside.

“What’s your room number?” I ask.

He thinks for a second, brow furrowed. “Six-oh-two.”

I nod and hit the button for the sixth floor.

The doors slide shut, sealing us in, and we ride up in silence. Knox leans against the wall, eyes half-closed, and I keep my distance.

When the doors open, I guide him down the hallway. Room 602 is near the end, and Knox fumbles in his pockets as we approach. He pats his jeans, checks his back pockets, then curses under his breath.

“What?” I ask.

“I forgot my key card.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Where is it?”